


To Fulfill a Dying Wish

by CanadianVoodooMagic



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Character Death, F/M, M/M, adoption au, get wrecked, historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9711455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianVoodooMagic/pseuds/CanadianVoodooMagic
Summary: I hope this letter finds you in good health, upon viewing the objects and letters left behind by my son, the late and adored John Laurens, I have come across a will. A regularity coming from his studies in Geneva, boys of war often leave such. However, upon viewing the requests my son has made, I find he wishes his young daughter Frances Laurens, be left in your care should something happen to her mother.





	

The news hit him like a cannonball. The shell coming apart inside him, leaving shrapnel that no surgeon or doctor could pull out. Sharp pieces of metal routinely cutting him open, severing veins and arteries. A letter. A single letter. It was all he got, all he knew, and it wasn’t in his hand. It never would be again. He wondered briefly if his own last letter ever made it, was ever opened and viewed by vibrant blue hues. He would wonder for the rest of his life, the idea haunting him, plaguing him.  
There was never enough time to tell those you love how much they mean to you. Again, once more in his life bookmarked by death, Alexander didn’t have a chance. He was too late.

  
The sands of time slipped through his fingers no matter how desperately he clenched his fist. It was all he could do to not fall apart, to not crumble under the force of his sorrow, of his grief. Alexander never learned, was never taught how to properly deal with loss. No, they came in too quick successions, a surprise each time. From waking up in cold arms, to walking inside to find a rope painting full lips blue. From seeing corpses of friends littering the beaches and sandy shores of an island he couldn’t run from quick enough.

  
Un Deux Trois Inhaler

  
He’d let the letter burn after he’d read it, once, twice, ten times. Let it curl and be licked by flames, blue and gold, like the uniform he must have been wearing the moment he fell. Fell in such a useless plight.

  
They’d won. The war was over. It was supposed to be over. No one else was supposed to die.

  
Trois Deux Un Exhaler

  
Fingers now, index and thumb, traced the silk of ribbon, memories of a cool stream lapping at exposed hips. The dark of night, fingers in his hair, tracing down the curve of his cheek. Rushed kisses and wandering hands.

  
“Alexander have you seen my ribbon?”  
“No.”

Something to remember you by.  
He was glad now, glad he’d kept the small momento, it had been curled in his coat, they’d let their clothes pile together on rocks. John was always finicky about keeping his shirt white, Alexander learned early on that things so pure never lasted unstained.

  
He’d received another letter, Henry Laurens, John’s father, the man who delivered the news and tore him open, he had never particularly liked the Congressman, having fought him tooth and nail over budgeting for the Continentals for far too long. Had remembered slandering his name, purse pinchers, the lot of them. Although John never agreed with the man, he still would come to his defense, assuring the young soldier that congress did all they could. He must have known more than Alexander on the subject. An In the orphan was always a tad jealous of.

_Dear Lieutenant Colonel, Hamilton,_

  
_I hope this letter finds you in good health, upon viewing the objects and letters left behind by my son, the late and adored John Laurens, I have come across a will. A regularity coming from his studies in Geneva, boys of war often leave such. However, upon viewing the requests my son has made, I find he wishes his young daughter Frances Laurens, be left in your care should something happen to her mother. It has come to my attention, that John’s wife, Martha Laurens, has fallen to yellow fever, and passed away on January the eighth. I have sent for the girl to travel to New York, should you deny this request, I will take guardianship of young Frances at this time. I wait eagerly for your response._   
_Your Obedient Servant,_   
_Senator Henry Laurens_

 

He read the letter much like the first he received from Mr. Laurens, once, twice, three times. It was a prospect that was bewildering to him. A request, a preference for him to take care of his deceased lover’s child. There was no doubt in any man’s mind who knew them, that John and him were close, very good friends to the unsuspecting eye.  
The girl was still young, he remembered the moment he found out about her, about where she was, who she was from. The moment of betrayal was still a fresh sting, never had a chance to scab over. To think John would abandon a child, something he still harbored resentment for, the only flaw he ever found in his lover’s character. But now, like him, the girl was an orphan and Alexander had a soft spot for children, a softer one for John. If it was his dying request he would obey, do anything to help the man rest with ease on the other side knowing his daughter was safe.

He could do it.  
He would do it.

The discussion with Elizabeth was unsurprisingly quick, she had readily--eagerly agreed to the prospect of bringing a child into their life, a young orphaned girl beside their newborn son. His son. His pride, his joy, his entire world, he would enjoy giving the young boy someone to play with, an extra hand for Eliza as he worked on building his firm from the ground up. The bar exam had passed with an unyielding speed, perhaps it was his way of dealing with the grief. He had always been relentless when he was hurting.

The day she was due to arrive crept upon him, both he and his beloved waiting early to meet the young girl they would no doubt adore and cherish. Waiting on the docs, his hand in his wife’s, and his son in his arm, the young boy had not ceased crying until his father’s arms were around him and Alexander almost felt whole.  
Almost.

The ship came to the harbor, slow, the waves licking the wood, and he was reminded of arriving on these same shores, years ago now, though the memory was still vivid. Fear as flames licked the sails, the smell of smoke and death, such a reminder of his home.

Un Deux Trois Inhaler.

They set anchor, and faces he didn’t know began filing down the dock, passing them by without thought, they weren’t there for him. Weren’t there for his family. Trepidation crept up inside him, taking hold of his chest, the squeeze on his heart fear, he wouldn’t learn if the girl had made the long trip until the captain listed off the deaths of passengers and for the first moment fear gripped him. He handed Phillip to Eliza, left her standing in her skirts, in her beautiful gown, with her elegant curls done up with grace. His heart swelled for her, but he needed to get his answer alone. Needed to know, needed to know if he would fall apart.

  
A woman walked out, fitting the description he had gotten from Henry Laurens, a bundle in a large coat with golden bouncing curls in her arms. His heart swelled with hope. A smile broke out as recognition dawned.

Trois Deux Un, Exhaler.

There was no doubting that girl was John’s daughter, her face round, her eyes that same blue, that beautiful vibrant colour that he’d gazed into, got lost in just a year ago.  
But those eyes. John’s eyes were gone, eternally closed behind grey-freckled lids, but they peered through now, peered at him, from this girl, this young girl, with perfect rose petal lips, and his heart swelled with an instant fondness.

“Mr. Hamilton.” He tore his gaze from chubby cheeks to an unfamiliar face.

“Yes, you must be Peggy Manning, it’s a pleasure to meet you. This must be Frances.” His gaze moved back to the newest object of his heart. He could not deny that his voice raised in tone, the excitement written across his features.

“It is.”

  
The woman placed young Frances on the ground beneath them, hand still in her chubby fingers, she was no higher than his knees. All round rolls, and perfection. He was in love.

He kneeled down, not minding as the wet from the wood seeped into his freshly pressed breeches. He held out his hand.

“Hello, Frances, I knew your papa, I was his best friend. I’m going to take care of you from now on, alright?” He asked, voice soft, filled with his anxieties. The girl seemed pleased with his demeanor, and Alexander knew she would have him wrapped around her little finger.

“You’re going to come home with me.”

His arms were soon full of a small bundle of energy, excitedly babbling in his ear about the long trip. Eliza joined them soon after, at his side with their son in her arms. He took her hand in his own free one, thin digits slipping perfectly into the spaces of his own. A smile curled his lips and he kissed Eliza’s cheek.

This was it, he thought, the first moment in his life he felt whole.

**Author's Note:**

> This was really a delight to write. It was a request from someone very close to my heart, so hope you enjoyed it! Feedback and kudos are always desired.


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